The Crystal Tower
by kurokotetsu
Summary: A little exercise I did. My English is getting rusty so I tried to do this little story as an exercise. It's a story of a man that hates the perfect atmosphere that sorounds him.


The stairway lies before me. A comfortable warm arises from the hellish depths that await the man that dares to descend. And I may be that man. Up here, where I'm standing right now the cold oozes from the pure blue crystal. But down there infinity of pleasures await me. Laughter and music are carried by the heat that arises to this cold glass tower.

The red moon tries to rip apart the fragile walls. The crimson light wants destroy this frigid prison and fill it with its stained beauty. The stars shine mightily, with silver spikes trying to penetrate the feeble barrier but, alas! It does not crumble by this ferocious attack. The divine and pure aura that surrounds this place keeps those earthly things far away. The perfect balance, the perfect harmony, the perfect aesthetics, the perfect atmosphere, the perfect place, must be kept at all costs. Nothing may disturb what happens here. Not even light may come and disturb our habitat. Mundane things belong to outside this tower. Only the sublime may enter and rest here, in our icy and lovely house. But that stairway is not closed, and a suggestive glow reaches from below.

My companions talk about their elevated thoughts all day long. They stride up and down the tower, without purpose, the idle walk of the ones that lack of need. They read books written by them long ago, as no other lecture is good enough for their minds. They humbly accept that they are superior to all other beings. They watch each other for insufferable hours, wandering why they are so beautiful, even when all that beauty is artificial. They don't dare to listen to music as it would dirt their virginal ears. If they, by mere error, look to the suggested forms that come out of the glass walls it terrifies them, as it is not pure enough for their eyes.

Maybe my first expression was wrong. The cold does not ooze out of the blue walls; it comes from those unstained bodies that surround me. But it is undeniable that this place is cold. Maybe the perfect things are cold, lifeless just because they are perfect. They go beyond reason and passion, the basics of life itself, and they are dead.

Slow. Slow. Slow. The first movement must be slow. As soon as the initial step is finished a wave of heat hits my face, filling my mouth, my eyes, my nose, my ears and my skin. The sensation that goes up to down my spine is fulfilling. It controls my body and the initial precaution vanishes into the depths of my mind. The next step is taken even before I finish enjoying the thrill. Soon my legs carry me without any need of instruction. I fly over the translucent steps, not worrying about anything. I need to descend. It is fundamental for my existence to find what lies under this serene place. What can produce such gentle warmth? Only life may give that characteristic heat. The life that I didn't know that is existed until I came before the stairway, not too long ago. It was then when the sensuous smell of earthliness came to my nostrils. Only then I became aware of the shallowness and futility of the perfect existence I lived all those long years. I began to despise the attitude and behaviour of my peers, the ones that I myself had done for maybe centuries. My body comes to a halt by its own at the end of the stair. A large door, of course made of peaceful blue crystal, was tightly closed with a feeble looking chain. The sounds of rejoice comes from behind the door. I know of the toughness of the material that made the chain but I still have to try to break it apart to see life for the first time. Oddly the bound that kept the gate closed was easily torn apart. Soon the exit of this nightmarish place is wide open before my eyes.

And only darkness welcomes my expecting eyes. The flat pitch black ground only differed from the night sky as the later had the tiny specs that were the stars and the bloody circle that was the moon. A completely desolate place, just as oppressive as the one I just left. I turn around only to see the door perfectly shut, not willing to accept a regretting fool back. I take a couple of steps away from it, ready to explore this monotonous desert. But soon enough I find a surprising hole only a few yards from the crystal tower. The trapdoor that should impede the entrance to this new stairway, made of solid earthly grey rock and dimly lit by some sporadic candles, was invitingly open. In here the cold didn't eat my bones but it wasn't the heat that I longed for. Also down there a huge party was being thrown. This dark valley was not for me. I had to descend even more. Everything that seduced me at the begging was coming from the depths of that pit...

Again I had to take my first step slowly. And yet again after this first ceremonial and paused movement my body took over rushing forward without control. Even while the wind rushed I can hear the trapdoor falling over the exit and shutting itself, sealing my fate. I don't mind, I even like it. I have no intention of going back; I know that I belong to what is at the bottom of this stair. The temperature grows the more I go down, finally expelling the horrible coolness of my body. Finally I'm gaining my life; at last I can claim to be alive. The end is close, I know it, and this solid tunnel will soon end to show me the world of my dreams.

Finally I'm able to see what I wanted. A huge feast was on course and the people that enjoyed it were far from ideal. Deformities rose in every body, an extra arm, another head, legs of an animal, and I could not stop the hysterical laughter my throat produced. My reaction doesn't surprise anybody, they just continue their activities. Yes, I belong to his wicked place. As I explore this place I see some people with perfect bodies, just like mine, other ones that descended voluntarily into this red hall. But they are not an exception of the corruption that characterizes this place; they are the perfect example of this. The vicious air of this heaven has remade their brains, deforming them to the most sublime perversion. Finally I find the host, a beautiful woman with bloody eyes. With her crimson irises she invites me to a chair to her right. Gladly I accept. I have to enjoy this place to the fullest. I have to do the ethereal and eternal acts that my host offers me. I have to live.


End file.
